


Off To The Races

by bearmitage



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: 1950s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - The Godfather, Alternate universe - Mafia, Broadway, Broadway References, Eventual Smut, Hollywood Glamourous, M/M, Smut, mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-08 04:24:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15922811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearmitage/pseuds/bearmitage
Summary: "He's screwed up and brilliant,truly a million dollar man,that's why my heart broke."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [The Godfather](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/415802) by (bloodybigship) BEARmitage. 



 

 

          “ **Connor….Connor!** ”

 

          The whisper brings Connor back to the reality, making him turn around and look at the caller who is still standing in the middle of the stage again. The light reflects on her blonde hair, turning it into the golden silk miraculously. Connor reaches his hand out to hers as he’s supposed to do then turns to look at the well-dressed blue-eyed man who is sitting on the orchestra seat once again and starts to sing.

 

          “ _But I'm so used to hear her say_  
_"Good morning" every day_  
_Her joys, her woes_  
_Her highs, her lows_

  
_Are second nature to me now_  
_Like breathing out and breathing in_  
_I'm very grateful she's a woman_  
_And so easy to forget_  
_Rather like a habit_  
_One can always break_

  
_And yet I've grown accustomed to the trace_  
_Of something in the air_ _  
_           Accustomed to her face.”

 

          Kara and Connor bows their heads, dwelling in the applause echoing across the theatre. Connor lifts his head, eyeing at the same man again while the curtain is slowly closing– _he smiles._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

          “You seemed zoned out tonight,” says Kara. She leans against the dressing room’s door frame, having her arms crossed while glaring at a bunch of staffs running in and out the hallway behind the stage then moving inside not to block the way. Connor pours the water into the cup and hands it to her after seeing Kara slightly cough. “What’s the matter?”

 

          “Nothing,” Connor simply replies with the vague smile, “I was just a bit distracted. Nothing in particular.”

 

          Kara stares at him and raises her eyebrows in wonder while sipping the water from her cup and having her other hand caress the shining pearl necklace around her neck which is reflecting on her golden hair, “How strange.” She turns around before moving aside to sit on the leather couch so the young man in the dark greyish brown sack suit can enter the room.

 

          “Mister Ricci, where would you like me to keep these bouquets?” Ralph asks, having the pile of flowers in his hands that no one barely saw his face. Connor stops adjusting the bowtie, turns around and looks at the younger man for a moment before turning back to the mirror again and resuming what he’s doing a moment ago.

 

          “Just bring them to Simon,” replies Connor with the least care of those bouquets– _they were all the same._

 

          “ **What about this one?** ”

 

          Everyone in the room turns almost immediately to the newcomer. The grey-haired gentleman stands in front of the dressing room door, having the stern looking man standing behind him.

 

          “Sumo,” he simply says

 

          “Yes, sir.” the man named Sumo nods and hands him the bouquet of flower. Connor slightly raises his eyebrows while Ralph is confusingly scratching his head. Kara swiftly stands up, putting on her shoes.

 

          “I would like to thank you,” the man states then hands Connor the bouquet, “and you, for giving me the honour to have both of you here.” Another bouquet is handed to Kara. She slightly bows her head and reaches her hand out. “I wonder whether you would mind,” he continues, “if I invite both of you to the dinner as a thank from me.”

 

          “Well,” Connor turns to look at his friend. Kara stares back at him before saying the soundless  _oh_ when the realisation hits her, mildly clearing her throat.

 

          “What a pity, I’m afraid I have to turn down your invitation,” replies Kara, smiling at the well-dressed man who is looking at Connor for a while before returning his attention to her. “I already have had a plan for this evening.”

 

          “It’s just at Jack and Charlie’s Twenty-one. I don’t think it will take much time.” the man replies. She raises her eyebrows, forcing herself not to show any other facial expression displaying that she’s utterly impressed. What can she say? It is the five-stars restaurant.

 

          “Maybe next time,” Kara insists on refusing before turning to her friend. “Anyhow, I’m certain that Connor is not busy. Are you, Connor?”

 

          “Oh,” says Connor, “I am not busy. But I am not sure whether you would mind.”

 

          The man smiles and shakes his head slightly before answering, “No, not at all.” Those deep-set bright blue eyes glared at everyone in the room one by one. “See you in the lobby, I suppose?”

 

          Connor nods silently with the smile. Receiving the answer, the man leaves the room, followed by the man named Sumo. Ralph looks at the bouquet in Connor's hand before pointing at it, “Should I take this one to Mister Smith too?” Ralph nods then leaves the room after seeing Connor shake his head to find Connor's personal manager, Simon Smith, with his hands full of flowers.

 

          Kara stares at Connor long enough that there is no one left nearby. She says while moving closer to him, “Now I know.” Her smooth and unblemished elbow nudges her friend playfully. The smirk is on her face.

 

          Connor laughs. The husky voice echoes across the dressing room.

 

 

* * *

 

 

          Connor checks his clothes one more time before walking down the marble stairs of the theatre to the lobby. The tiny smile appears on the corner of the older man’s lips who is sitting on the wooden Louis chair. He waves his hand twice at his man who is standing behind him and stands up. Sumo leaves the lobby as he has been told.

 

          “I'm so terribly sorry for keeping you waiting,” Connor says to the other man, holding the bouquet of flowers in his hand. “I hope you would pardon me.”

 

          The blue-eyed man shakes his head slightly, “Absolutely. In fact, I am the one who needs to apologise for not properly introducing myself although you're the one at fault.” The answer makes Connor's eyebrows knit together with curiosity. “Your brilliant performance made me hyped up and excited that I forgot to introduce myself, Mister Ricci.”

 

          Connor chuckles. He smiles that the tiny canine teeth appear. The man simply smiles at that reaction, “Connor, please.” Connor properly reaches out his hand to the well-dressed gentleman in front of him. “Mister…?”

 

          “ _Anderson._ ” The blue-eyed man replies, shaking Connor's hand, “ **_Hank Anderson._ ** ”

 

          The black Maserati car arrives in front of the theatre. Hank and Connor get into the car.

 

 

* * *

 

 

          “Please don't bother yourself, it's totally fine,” says Connor after seeing Hank move the chair for him. When Hank shakes his head as the answer, Connor sit. Those brown eyes look around the restaurant as the waiter arrives at their table.

 

          “Good evening, Mister Anderson,” says the waiter. He gently places the menu right in front of them then turning his face to Hank. Hank looks at Connor who gestures himself to tell Hank to order first. The blue-eyed man nods as a response. “I suppose you would like to have the nineteen-forty-three Monfortino as usual,” Hank nods once again silently. The waiter bows his head then turning to Connor. “And you, sir?”

 

          “Um,” there is a long pause. Those blue eyes set on that youthful face. “Rosé, please.”

 

          The tiny smirk appears on the corner of Hank's mouth and it simply makes Connor avoid the eye contact shyly. The waiter continues. “Filet Mignon as well, Mister Anderson?” Hank slightly nods. “And you?”

 

          “New York strip would be lovely.”

 

          The waiter nods slightly before leaving the table as Hank is staring at Connor until he raises his eyebrows with the curiosity like a kid. “Yes?”

 

          Hank laughs softly. “It seems like you are not a big fan of wine, are you?”

 

          Connor smiles shyly before nodding, feeling like Hank is reading him like a book, “I would rather prefer stout but I presume that they don't have it here,” his delicate fingers are tapping on his lips while he is thinking. “It's more…. _energetic_ , I would say.”

 

          Hank raises his eyebrows. “Guinness?” Connor nods again. “I didn't tell you that my family's from Dublin, didn't I?”

 

          “Oh,” Connor leans in closer with the excitement and interest, licking his lips automatically. “And I am from Piedmont.”

 

          Both of them laugh when Connor has finished his sentence.

 

          “What a coincidence,” Connor states after resuming to their initial manner. The waiter deliberately pours wine so it will not have the bubble that can affect its taste. They leisurely enjoy the drink in a comforting silence. The heat stirs up in Connor. His face burns hot because of the wine.

 

          “Indeed,” replies Hank. “ _What a coincidence._ ”

 

          After the food has been served, Hank starts the conversation. “What brings you to Broadway?”

 

          The pair of hands that is cutting the steak froze. Connor presses his lips together until they look like a white thin line. He was silent for a while when he thought about it, “The war,” says Connor, evidently yet politely showing that he does not want to think about it. “There was no one left.”

 

          Hank stuns for a moment, not saying a word. “I’m terribly sorry,” the blue-eyed man breaks the silence. “I shouldn't have asked you.”

 

          “There's no need to apologise,” the sorrowful face turns to the delightful one once again. The smile appears. “The past is the past,” Those brown eyes stares at Hank, dazzling and sparkling from the light of the chandelier. “ _And I do enjoy getting to know people. Getting to know you._ ”

 

          The honest answer somehow seems to impress Hank. He places his knife that was cutting the steak on the plate and says to the younger man who was sipping the wine, “So, shall we?”

 

          Connor nods, “Your last name is Anderson,” the unblemished hands cut the steak. Hank was attentively listening while sipping his drink. “Are you related to John Anderson?”

 

          The brown eyes stare at that unreadable face without any blink– _Everyone in New York knows John Anderson._

 

          The blue-eyed man nods slowly and slightly, “He’s my father,” replies Hank, “I am just the theatre owner, nothing extraordinary.”

 

          Connor nods as a response. Hank seems to be utterly humble than he should since _Colossus_ is one of the most famous and brilliant theatres in Broadway – _nothing extraordinary_ does not seem to be the right word to describe this man, especially for the son of John Anderson.

 

          Connor is pondering quietly for a moment until Hank breaks the silence, “ _My father and I…._ ” the deep voice says solemnly, “ _We have nothing in common._ ”

 

          In the blink of an eye, there is the flickering flash in those brown eyes when those words slip from Hank’s mouth. Connor presses his lips together for a moment before smiling and sipping his Rosé.

 

          “You told me earlier that your family’s from Dublin,” Connor straightens his posture, “Have you heard that we do have the best stout in town here?”

 

          For Hank, Connor seems to be a pleasant surprise all the time. He shakes his head as the answer.

 

          “Then I will take you there.” Hank raises his eyebrows. “My treat, I hope you wouldn’t mind.”

 

          Those Bambi eyes are as sparkling as the wine. Hank smirks, staring at that youthful face. “Are you asking me out?”

 

          “ _What do you think?_ ”

 

 

* * *

 

 

          “Make it two today, William.” Connor turns back to look at Hank who is sitting on the bar stool. The corner of Connor’s mouth turns into the tiny smirk. “Welcome to P.J. Clarke’s.”

 

          Those blue eyes wander around the bar. P.J. Clarke’s is the tiny cozy bar that is full with the lively vibe. People are laughing, talking, dancing and drinking. The music is playing quite loud. Nonetheless, the noise does not bring any headaches to anyone but rather is relaxing. Connor waves at the saxophonist on the stage. The man raises his glass as a response before returning back to his saxophone.

 

          “You surprised me,” Hank states, turning to Connor who is sitting next to him. Connor chuckled softly, reaching his hands out to grab the pint glasses from William and handing one to Hank. “Did not think that you would know this place.”

 

          “I’m from here,” says Connor, sipping the beer from his glass. The tiny hand unbuttons the collar. “I came to America without anyone. I had and knew no one  here.” Hank listens silently, trying to pay attention since the noise is incredibly loud. “Then I met these people.” Those dark brown eyes look around the bar. “This is my people. My place.”

 

          “Connor!” The brunette lady runs across the room to Connor after they finish his second glass of beer. She pulls him into the tight hug. “Would you mind if I borrow him for a moment?” The dazzling smile is sent to Hank. Her hand is holding Connor’s arm. “No worries, I will return him to you right after this song ends. He is the best dancer here.”

 

          Both of them laughs after they heard her. Hank nods then raises the glasses to the lady. “Please. Be my guest.”

          

          “I'll take a good care of him.” She smiles widely, dragging Connor fondly like he is her baby brother. “I promise!” shouts the lady. Hank smirks.

 

          Those blue eyes stares at Connor and the brunette girl. Hank must admit that the dance is quite good. To be fair, it is  _impressive._

 

          The upbeat rhythm that is being played ends. Hank is internally surprised he sees the man with the accordion walk to the stage before starting playing– _Irish folk song._

 

          Connor withdraws himself from the brown hair girl and bows his head then turns to Hank and smiles at him. Hank raises his glass and gives him the tiny smile. The younger man sits on the same stool, panting before unbuttoning another button then reaching out to Hank's Guinness glass and drinking from it.

 

          “That….” He is panting heavily. “Was bloody tiring,” says Connor playfully, placing his hand on Hank's knee. The blue-eyed man chuckles, staring at the brown lock of hair on the younger man’s forehead before putting it behind his ear. Connor leans in closer. His eyes never leave Hank's face.

 

          “I know that you're the actor,” says Hank, looking at that rosy youthful face. “But I didn't know that you're very good at dancing.”

 

          "Well," Connor licks his lips, looking deep into those ocean blue eyes, “ _T_ _here's something else that I'm also good at._ ”

  



	2. Chapter 2

 

 

          Connor is panting heavily, not knowing whether it is because of the scorching heat from an alcohol or what he was doing at the moment.

 

 

          His toes are digging into the bedsheet as if the owner is trying to relieve those feelings inside of him. He is crying out and his back is arching. Those hands that were squeezing his bum and thighs swiftly moves to his waist, grabbing and bruising it while Connor is moving up and down on top of the man in front of him. Connor is sweating like crazy, naked, and Hank is still fully dressed. Those brown eyes barely open and the youthful face twists when he feels those lips on one of the sensitive spots on his chest. Connor jolts and tilts his head behind, grabbing those strong shoulders immediately– _it is like the heavenly electric shock to him._

 

          “You are still _ah_ fully dressed – ” says Connor tremblingly. He goes completely silent right away when Hank thrusts up at the same moment he thrusts down. It was so deep that it made Connor’s tears drop. Connor feels like he is going to explode, grabbing and almost tearing Hank’s shirt. “If I make a mess, I would _oh God,_ ” Connor is already whining. It is almost too much for him. Hank thrusts up so hard Connor almost sees the stars. He places his face on Hank’s shoulder, tears running down from those Bambi eyes, “I would not be able to pay _y_ – you.”

 

          “I don’t mind,” replies Hank softly. His voice is contradicting what he is actually doing right now, placing kisses on Connor’s neck, thrusting up again and again and making the younger man tremble and grasp. He places his hand on Connor’s chin and lifts the youthful face up, leaning closer until there is almost no space left between them. “ _You can even make a mess on every each of them._ ”

 

          Connor opens his eyes and stares at Hank, licking his own lips. The urge of kissing Hank is utterly strong, however, there is one problem– _Hank does not kiss._

 

          The blue-eyed man told him while they were in the car together and Hank’s hands were under his shirt, teasing him until Connor had to press his lips together so those moans could not escape from his mouth. Although there was the blind between the front and the back, it did not mean that the driver would not hear them.

 

          “I don’t kiss,” said Hank when their mouths almost touched. Connor stunned for a moment, looking into those gleaming ocean blue eyes.

 

_Why?_

 

          But he did not ask Hank.

 

          In fact, _he did not dare to ask._

 

          Hank stares at that sinful tongue licking across those swollen lips until the younger man trembles and sobs from the overwhelming feelings burning inside of him. He holds Conor close then buried his face in the messy dark brown hair, thrusting good and hard until Connor screams his name.

 

 

* * *

 

 

          The sunlight touches Connor's eyelids gently like a kiss from the feather. He slowly opens his eyes then raises his head up to look around the place.

 

The house of Anderson.

 

          Those brown eyes are glittering in the glowing light of the dawn. He lifts his hands and rubs them on his face to drive the drowsiness away then stays still for a while since his body is now heavily sore.

 

          Connor glares at the older man who is sleeping peacefully next to him, tapping fingers across the upper arm lightly as if they are the fragile spider’s legs. Hank is still asleep, not moving even a bit. Connor reaches out to grab Hank's shirt on the exotic Iranian carpet since his clothes and shoes are now next to the bedroom door. His face twists right after the ache hit him. Connor is not going to lie. It was rough last night. And now he is paying the price of it because he cannot fully move. Connor knows that he will not be able to dance for a few days or even a week– Simon is going to kill him for sure.

 

          His feet land on the carpet. Connor almost laughs when he sees himself in the mirror. Hank's shirt is big. To be precise, it is too big for him and Connor is not small. He would rather say that he is averagely tall. But Hank is beyond average– he is enormous. In every way.

 

          Connor can feel that his legs tremble slightly when he is standing. He turns around to look at the man and tries to make the least noise as much as possible so it will not disturb him. Hank is still asleep.

 

          Not far from the bed, Connor sits on the chair in front of the wooden desk, frowning when the pain hits him again. His eyes are glaring across the desk before stopping at the chunk of papers. Connor grabs it then starts reading with the slight care while resting his legs on the armrest and leaning against the backrest casually. He feels Hank's seeds dripping and leaking to his thigh when he lifts his legs up so he grabs the napkin on the table and wipes it out carefully then returns to the paper in his hand.

 

          The brown irises move from those letters to the man who is sleeping leisurely and carefully. The warm sunlight is embracing his pale skin and his grey hair gracefully. Connor places the paper on the desk when the sounds of the knock and the opened door interrupt his gaze.

 

          “Good morning, Mister Ricci,” says Sumo solemnly to Connor. His face is calm and quiet as usual. Connor nods before returning the greet and is about to walk out of the room when Sumo gently blocks his way, “You didn't drive here. Are you going to leave by a cab?”

 

          He nods and about to explain but Sumo politely interrupts him, “But Mister Anderson doesn't like when….” he goes silently for a moment, thinking, “His _important_ guest goes home alone by himself.”

 

          Connor raises his eyebrows in wonder after hearing the word _important_. The man like Hank Anderson seems to have done something like this countless times yet Sumo still somehow picks the impressive word to address him, “Please don't bother,” replies Connor, trying to tuck Hank's shirt so it will cover the bruises he has got from last night.

 

          “I must insist,” replies  Sumo. Connor gives in and nods as the response, “I have prepared the car for you, please let me know when you're ready to go.”

 

          The door closes behind Sumo and the room returns to the silence once again. Connor glazes at Hank before walking towards the bed and sitting next to him. He watches Hank carefully, gently placing a kiss on the older man's hand as a goodbye.

 

          Connor stands on his feet, checking his clothes one more time then walking towards the door to go home but is stopped by something his eyes accidentally just saw. _Hank's handkerchief_ – Connor inhales the scent of the man slowly, taking it with him before leaving the room.

 

 

* * *

 

 

          New York during the dawn is incredibly and unbelievably calm, almost dull, when the well-polished car is passing by as Connor is looking outside the window. It is horribly silent in the car that Connor decided to break the silence since he thought he could hear the pin drop.

 

          “The name Sumo is such an interesting name,” says Connor when Sumo pulls the steering wheel carefully.

 

          “I was given this name by Mister Anderson,” replies Sumo, eyes not leaving the road, “He adopted me from the orphanage home.”

 

          For Connor, Sumo seems to be even quieter than his master since no matter what he asks, Sumo will only reply a short answer with no details. The other man does not even bother to ask him a question, not even once. And Connor hates the silence and the lifeless surrounding more than anything.

 

 

          “Well,” Connor breaks the silence again, “I've seen no one there. Where is Mister Anderson's family?”

 

          The reflection of Sumo's face on the rearview mirror shows some alarmed expression before returning to the usual unreadable one. In the blink of an eye, Connor can see that his eyes have a flashing spark full of the puzzle Connor is yet not able to crack.

 

          “I'm afraid I couldn't answer that.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

          Sumo parks the car in the garage after arriving at the mansion as usual while the metal door is slowly closing.

 

          He makes sure that everything is in order one more time before leaving the garage and heading straight to Hank's office. The door is closed as usual. He knocks three times before hearing the permission from the inside then entering the room and standing at his spot silently.

 

          “Send Sawyer with him,” Hank turns to Fowler, his lawyer, who is standing next to his chair solemnly. The man nods as a response. Hank gets up from his leather couch and walks towards his fella, “Nice to talk to you again, Farrell.”

 

          “Pleasant to talk to you too, Mister Anderson.” Farrell bows his head before kissing the ring on Hank's finger before following Fowler to leave the room.

 

When there is no one left, Sumo bows his head down, leans in and whispers to his master.

 

          Hank only nods. His facial expression is totally unreadable– no one can figure out what is in his mind, not even Sumo.

 

 

* * *

 

 

          Connor ties the sash of the bathrobe together before placing the needle of the gramophone on the phonograph record and laying on his couch, drying his hair with the towel. The music is supposed to relax him but his mind is racing. Connor reaches out to Hank's handkerchief, staring and caressing it.

 

_He was right._

 

          Those eight digits Connor has seen on the paper this morning is, undoubtedly, a strong proof– _Hank Anderson is not Mister Nobody who just happens to own the theatre as Hank himself has claimed._

 

**Connor dials the call.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That awkward moment when you tag 'Eventual Smut' and throw the smut in the readers' faces right after the chapter one. Shame shame shame.
> 
> (I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it as always. Your kudos and comment would be highhhhhhhhhhhhly appreciated. Much love!)

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, this work is, undoubtedly, influenced by The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald and The Godfather by Mario Puzo which are ones of my all-time favourite works and is the translation of the work under the name 'The Godfather' which was written in Thai. Also, it's heavily influenced by Lana Del Rey's Born To Die - The Paradise Edition and Ultraviolence.  
> This story is set in the 1950s (which is my favourite era besides the 1940s), however, I'm not the specialist nor historian so I would like to apologise in advance if there is any mistake.  
> For the latest update, feel free to check out @bloody_big_ship on Twitter.  
> I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.  
> Much love.  
> (Btw, Bryan just liked my tweet on my birthday, I'm crying uwu)


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